


Paralyzer

by SkylaRose



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Epic Love, F/M, Inspired by Music, Mutual Pining, New York, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Short One Shot, love in the club, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylaRose/pseuds/SkylaRose
Summary: Ok here it goes. My first ever fic. This isn’t cannon compliant. It’s a meeting between Logan and Veronica in New York. Six years of radio silence. My idea is inspired by Paralyzer by Finger Eleven. Fair warning the song snippets are out of order in some places to make the story flow to where I wanted to go.





	Paralyzer

**Author's Note:**

> I always associate songs with people and places. After so much VM talk over the last four weeks songs and scenes of VM float through my head at a steady rate. Thanks to the discord girls for telling me to just do it.

New York in May, mild and bright with the promise of heat in the coming months, is awash with summer white uniforms.

A crew of six make their way into the club as part of their 24-hour hiatus from Honour, Courage, Commitment and Country. Without queuing they approach the velvet rope, a shiny headed, black suit covered ball of muscle waves them through with a whisper of thanks for their service.

The club is dark, heated by the mass of bodies glowing by blue and white strobe lights on the dance floor. Lights of the bar spill a honey-coloured glow that never quite meets the light of distorted dancers.

Sidling up to the bar the first round of drinks are ordered; three beers, two scotches neat, no ice and a soda water. 

The uniforms draw attention. Men with allusions of grandeur size them up. Women size them up with a different intent. Coy looks coming their way and level looks of respect coming in equal measure at the realization of gold wings above coloured decoration.

Backs to the bar smiling as those around them make eye contact in awe or outright hunger, they look out to the dance floor. Bodies grinding in unison to the baseline deep enough to be felt in their chests.

This club had to be the most pretentious thing he had seen in awhile. The thought only coming close to a memory of him and ... he tries not to think of the name but the face. The face is always there. Tattooed across his brain. The touch. The touch, burned into his skin like a layer that had become a part of his own. As he allows the memory to wash over him he starts to think he should have stayed ship side.

He starts to feel awkward about the attention. If one thing really means one he may not get out of here alive as a lock of long brown hair caresses his arm and a long nail traces its way down his bare forearm. He looks down at the woman smiling wantonly up at him with glazed tipsy eyes. “Mam,” he says politely as he extricates himself from her and moves closer to the swath of dancing bodies looking out at the crowd. He feels hot and claustrophobic taking a sip from his glass, ice melting rapidly in the warmth of the room. 

The familiar strains of the next song surge into his brain. Conjuring images of her again.

_ I hold on so nervously _

_ To me and my drink _

_ I wish it was cooling me _

_ But so far has not been good _

_ It's been shitty _

_ And I feel awkward as I should _

What was it with music and her? A soundtrack to love and loss that he hasn’t been able to break free of for six years? The only time the soundtrack doesn’t play is when he is in the air.

He squints into the crowd at that moment a flick of blond. Night ruined his mind is casting projections into the crowd. Petite and pixie-like, tousled hair extending down the length of her spine over a barely-there backless top.

This is ridiculous. He will hold out for one more drink. His is the next round. He goes to make his move but can’t drag his eyes away from the body before him as it drops slowly into a tantalizing squat in time to the beat.

_ Well, I'm not paralyzed _

_ But, I seem to be struck by you _

Move! His body screams at him. Hair raising across his tanned skin. Her skin. Memory. His skin electrifies. A recognition his brain hasn’t caught up with.

* * *

  
She senses eyes on her. She is being watched. A recognition of something she cannot explain. Without missing a beat she shimmies into a turn as the music pulses around her and surveils the room. 

Piercing blue meets molten chocolate.

_ If your body matches _

_ What your eyes can do _

_ You'll probably move right through _

_ Me on my way to you _

Completing her turn she faces back to her friends. Pulse fluttering like a hummingbird. Memory. It floods her. Catharsis. Blood pumping, not from the hours of exertion. Memory as her skin remembers. Touches. Caresses. Intensity. Soulmate.

She stops. Heart hammering. Turning before she realizes she is.

Blue. Chocolate.

The silence in the madness of the club is deafening.

The words come flooding to the forefront of her mind.

I thought our story was epic, you know. You and me.

Epic how?

Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined and bloodshed. Epic.

Eyes locked. It’s history but ever present. At least it has been for her. An unusual feeling of self consciousness ripples through her. Tugging her lower lip between her teeth she tilts her head.

* * *

_ Well, I'm not paralyzed _

_ But, I seem to be struck by you _

_ I wanna make you move _

_ Because you're standing still _

Move! 

_ Well, I'm still imagining _

_ A dark lit place _

_ Or your place or my place _

Move! Touch! Soulmate!

It repeats through his head on loop at a frenzied pace. He can’t break away from the pull of her. She is the sun. Pale skin glowing in the lights.

He moves. Almost stalking. Not quite of his own volition.

Chest to chest. Not quite touching. Eyes unwavering. Skin tingling.

“Logan”. It’s breathy. It says everything and not enough. It’s a homecoming.

He touches her face. Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. The contact feels like a burn. A branding. Mine. They both declare inwardly as they react to the frisson the simple touch put into play.

“Take me home Bobcat”

With only eyes for each other and not a second thought of their friends they head out into the cool night air.  
  



End file.
